


Dinner for Two

by cyberghosts



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: A Bleak Future, Cooking, F/M, Fluff, Hurt and comfort, In-Game Spoilers, M/M, Reader is either an OC or V, Takemura is homesick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyberghosts/pseuds/cyberghosts
Summary: After airing his grievances with the lack of appetizing food in Night City, you decides to try your hand at cooking to help cure Goro Takemura’s homesickness. Besides, how hard could cooking a single meal actually be?
Relationships: Goro Takemura/Reader, Goro Takemura/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 161





	Dinner for Two

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my tumblr, mistystarot! If you're into cyberpunk I'm looking for more mutuals and will be following back there.

You had been leaning against the familiar dark countertop, shooting the shit with Misty at her Esoterica like so many times before, when your phone began to ping incessantly. A frown tugged at the corner of your lips, and Misty gave you a quizzical look. 

“Gee, someone must really want your attention,” the blonde joked, taking a moment to reshuffle her tarot cards.

Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you hummed in agreeance and checked your latest notification— _all_ of them from Goro Takemura. 

‘ _GOOD YAKITORI NIGHT CITY_ ’

‘ _TEMPURA NIGHT CITY CHEAP_ ’

‘ _UDON NIGHT CITY_ ’

‘ _TASTY RAMEN_ ’

‘ _Is there anything to eat in this wasteland?_ ’

“Everything good?” Misty asked after a moment. 

“Oh, yeah. Just... Takemura’s having a hard time adjusting to Night City’s lack of edible Japanese food.” 

“Please, nothing here is edible unless it’s completely processed trash.” 

You unlocked your phone without a second thought, and began typing. 

‘ _anything in particular ur craving?_ ’ Not bothering to be overly formal, you sent the text. 

You didn’t have to wait long for his response: ‘ _The local udon restaurant I used to visit all the time at home, my mom’s onigiri. Even the worst places to eat at home were better than the best here_.’

An idea struck you... If he couldn’t find anything edible in the city, maybe you could make something? 

“Cooking isn’t that hard, is it?” You asked, shooting Misty and unsure glance. 

“So long as you don’t light your apartment on fire. The hardest part will be getting the groceries, costs an arm and leg...”

“In that case,” you pushed off of the counter, “I’ll catch you later, Misty.” 

“Be careful, don’t chop any figures off or burn yourself!” Misty called as you headed out onto the street, “trauma team won’t give a shit!”

Your search for the right recipe and ingredients was practically a trip to hell and back. Groceries were far and few in between, and even then if you managed to get into one... only the corpo-rats could afford the crap. It took several internet searches and a handful of bodega hopping to eventually find nearly-expired ingredients to make a miso yaki onigiri recipe that you had found.

Even the cheapest of ingredients left your pockets empty afterwards, but it was worth it— you could always pick up another job the following day for quick cash. After two hours of prepping for an afternoon of cooking, your search was fruitful enough for you to text Takemura. 

' _my place, six tonight. come hungry!_ ’

‘ _Arriving hungry won’t be a problem considering the places I have stopped by today,_ ’ he responded.

Feeling a rush of rejuvenated hope, you hurried back to your slummy apartment and got to work. Your stove was rarely used and your fridge empty apart from a few takeout boxes here. Once you got set to work on making the rice though, your kitchen finally felt comfortable and lived in. When was the last time you had made a meal for yourself? More often than not you went out to eat with friends or just snacked on whatever crap the newest vending machine was spilling. 

The recipe called for the mixture of miso, sugar and mirin packed into small rice balls. You set to work, lining them carefully and evenly, trying your hardest to get them to cook evenly. Cooked meals were rare in Night City— even your own parents rarely cooked while you were growing up; yet here you were like a bonafided chef.

The ongiris were nearly done browning on their opposite side when there was a knock on your door. Jumping, you spun on your heels to face your door. You didn’t realize time had passed so fast; you meant to change, fix your hair, hide the stress from the day... Your current state would have to do though. 

“Doors unlocked,” you called out, quickly turning off your stove, “come on in!”

The door slipped open and in walked Goro, as well dressed as ever. Once again he donned his white button up, crisp and free of stains unlike the rest of Night City. It was a wonder how he could stay in such pristine condition despite the ever-accumulating grime.

You tried not to stare, mentally cursing him for daring to be some silver-haired fox. Life was too busy, too chaotic to focus on anything more than the necessities. Besides, even if you had pursued a relationship, he’d surely turn you away. Too young, too inexperienced, too—

“You’ve been busy,” he commented slowly, eyeing the stove as he came to a stop at your kitchen island. 

You let out a sigh, trying to shake your insecurities away. 

“Well, yeah. Figured I could try my hand at a genuine Japanese recipe. I don’t cook a lot so no promises, but... it’s something.”

“I apologize if my messages made you feel as if you had to cook for me. I was expecting nothing more than a restaurant recommendation.”

“No need to worry. Like I said, I wanted to experiment with cooking anyway. I gotta stop relying off of vending machines and take out for every meal, so... this is good practice.”

You tried your best to ignore Takemura’s curious glance around your apartment as you plated your meal. At least you kept your apartment somewhat clean— or at least as clean as the crappy megabuilding could get. It was a single floor apartment, with an open living room and kitchen. Your bed was attached to the living room through a cubby in the wall. Meanwhile, the bathroom was crammed in what surely was once an average closet. It was better than nothing, though. 

“Now, I present to you: miso yaki onigiri. Prolly got nothing on your mom’s recipe, but better than the trash you can get outside.”

You plated several rice balls and placed it in front of Takemura on the island counter.

“Let us hope it’s as good as it smells.”

“Can I get you a drink? Real Water, beer? Soda?” You turned towards your refrigerator. The one thing you were always stocked up on was drinks. 

“A beer would be... nice.”

Your tried to school your expression into a cool one, hiding the shock that stirred inside. Normally he was all business and no play. Surely a beer was a step in the right direction of what would at the very least be a friendship. You grabbed a beer bottle and closed the refrigerator door with your hip. As you turned, he caught your eye. 

Cautiously, as if afraid the food would attack him, he picked up a rice ball. He brought his hand up and before taking a bite, his eyes met yours. 

“Pinky promise, I tried my best. The ingredients are as fresh as you could get on my _budget_ , cooked all the way, no poison.” 

“Please, (Y/N), I trust you enough now not to poison me.” His lip quirked into a playful smirk, “at least, not intentionally.”

“Oh ha, ha. You’re a real comedian. C’mon, just try it already!” You crossed your arms defensively, trying to cool your nerves. 

After a moment's beat, he lifted the ongiri to his lips and took a decent sized bite. He kept his expression neutral as he chewed, carefully putting the rest of the rice ball back onto the plate. 

“So...” You pressed, “you’re not dead, or trying to kill me, _or_ puking. What’s the verdict?”

“I have to say... it’s not bad.” 

Relief flooded you and you smiled genuinely for the first time in far too long. 

“Just call me chef! Maybe next time you can chip in for some better ingredients and I can try something a bit more difficult.”

“You know,” he took a sip of his beer, “I think I would like that.”


End file.
